The Case of the Girl Brought Back to Life (Intro)
by isola9
Summary: A Scottish girl with a unique story comes to visit Holmes and Watson. This is just the intro to a story, a (hopefully not too dreadful) attempt to emulate the style of Conan-Doyle (for a school assignment).


Dear readers, this is a case I have been hesitant to put into print, due in part to certain implications it places on my doctoring skill. The story was released to the paper at the time of the incident, but I feel a need to write about it now due to the personal connection I had with the singular case involving Aileen Blair.

The adventure began on a Sunday morning. Since my office was always closed on Sundays, I was sitting in my chair at 221B Baker Street with my dear friend Sherlock Holmes.

"It occurs to me, Watson, that you have been dreadfully quiet of late. Care to express what is bothering you so?" asked Holmes as he sat sipping his coffee at the breakfast table.

"Oh! I wasn't aware that I was being so transparent," replied I, sitting up a bit straighter in my chair.

"Of course you weren't aware," my companion chuckled, shaking his head. "It is so common for a person to express his innermost thoughts without realizing it. A great many cases have been solved instantly due to this very unfortunate flaw. You do, of course, remember the case involving The Woman and the King of Bohemia? Even she, who was so clever, fell victim to human instinct. But I digress. Do tell me what is causing your solemness."

"I had a patient a few days ago," I began. "A young girl, twelve years old, at the most. She was brought in to me by an officer of the police force. He told me that he found the poor girl in the shady district of the city, bleeding badly and in a coma. I was also informed that the police were unable to identify her, and because of this were unable to find her legal guardians. Despite the uncertainties, I couldn't allow a young girl to die without doing anything, and with the officer's help I carried her into my office." I took a deep breath in preparation for my next sentence.

"I tied bandage upon bandage around her wounds, and the bleeding finally stopped. I thought that the worst was over, but when I checked her heartbeat, it was still. The poor child had passed away on the operating table, right in front of me. She was quickly cold to the touch and pale- it was terrible. We wheeled her away to the police mortuary when I was certain she was finished."

"That must have been quite a trying experience, my dear friend! But did you find out the cause of her injuries?"

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

"I suppose the story will have to wait, for it seems you have a client. I will get the door," I said. I was grateful for the opportunity to leave the issue be, at least for the time being. It wasn't often that I performed operations on children, and this was the first one to end so unfortunately.

When I reached the door and opened it to allow our visitor inside, I stepped back in shock with my mouth agape. Standing right before me, in the flesh, was the girl I had failed to save.

"Are ye Sherlock 'olmes?" asked the child. I stood there for a moment, trying to judge if I was hallucinating.

"Hoy ye... sir?" she implored. I snapped out of my trance and shook my head slowly. Unable to say anything, I led her with shaking hands into the sitting room.

After making sure she was comfortable in what I usually claimed as my chair, I walked briskly into the kitchen to speak with Holmes, who was still casually drinking his coffee.

"Our visitor-" I started.

"You know her, but not in a positive light" said he with little fanfare.

"How on earth could you possibly know that?"

"Well, judging by how quiet you were when you opened the door, you must have been quite taken aback by her presence. There were no happy exclamations of greetings, so she's not a friend. You decided to come in here alone, rather than simply calling me into the sitting room, which indicates there must be some information you must convey to me without her hearing. The most obvious reason for this is because it concerns her. But curiously, she asked if you were me. So she does not know who you are, yet you two obviously have a connection?"

"It's true, she's never seen me before, because we have never properly met. She was in a coma when I first saw her. Holmes, she's the girl we were just talking about. Speak of the devil indeed!" I moaned.

"Well that can't be the case. You said she died, did you not? There must be some logical explanation. I will go out there and see what she's here for. You may rest here for a bit, if the shock has not yet worn off."

I was still feeling slightly shaken, but decided that I was too intrigued to see what was going on to sit idly by and recuperate. We stood up together and walked into the central room of the residence.

The girl had remained where I had guided her to sit when she arrived. The chair was much too large for her, for she was quite short in stature; her feet didn't touch the floor, and the leather cushions seemed to swallow her up. She seemed rather uncomfortable, not making eye contact with either of us while wringing her hands together in her lap. Her black hair hung around her face messily, and her plain brown cloak appeared to be several sizes too large for her.

"Good morning, my dear. I hear that you were looking for me?" Sherlock asked.

"Are ye Sherlock 'olmes?"

"Yes, I am."

"Then aye, I were lookin' for ye. My name is Aileen Blair. Word on the street is ye can solve any problem 'at comes tae ye."

"It depends on the nature of the problem."

"I've got a feelin' ye aren't gonnae believe me. It's quite a strange tale."

"My dear, I only take the strangest cases." Sherlock glanced over the girl quickly.

"You come from up north, do you not?"

The girl looked up at Holmes with a bit of a start.

"Ye really are as good as they say! Yes, I hail from Scotland."

Sherlock smiled a bit to himself.

"Well, that was only too obvious, going by your accent. You come here all the way from the highlands, yet you bring very little with you. I see only one reasonable explanations for this- you must have had to leave very quickly out of the blue. Since you are so very young, and without any parental supervision at present, I make the connection that this visit must be one unauthorized by your guardians."

"Well, it weren't exactly my decision tae come tae London! I were kidnapped!" said Aileen, as she threw her arms into the air for emphasis. As she did so, her sleeve rolled down just slightly, enough to reveal that there were bandages wrapped around her entire arm, the very bandages I had applied several days prior. They had turned a disgusting brown color, stained by the fluid that had come out of her wounds.

"This morn', I woke up in a strange room on an uncomfortable metal cot, covered by a sheet, but otherwise nude. Feeling a bit dazed, I looked around the room to try to find me clothing. I failed to do so, ye see, and had to grab this large coat instead. I walked out o' the building and looked around. I realized I were in London, and thought I should visit the most famous detective in all of Europe tae see tae my problem."

"So you are the very same girl I tended to! But I thought for sure you were dead," I cried, unable to hold my tongue any longer.

"'scuse me?" Aileen asked. "I'm clearly not dead, sir!"

"Drugged, most likely," said Sherlock thoughtfully. "Do tell us more about yourself, Aileen."

"Well, I come from a fairly well-known family in a wee town tae the south o' Edinburgh. Long ago, my folk were leaders of a Celtic tribe. Maybe someain used a charm on me tae brin' me back from th' dead!"

"I highly doubt that," Sherlock chuckled. "But I think I have some idea as to what happened to you- it'll take some investigation, but I will be able to determine who kidnapped you, and why. You may return on Tuesday afternoon to receive your answer"

"Oh, thank ye so much, Mr. 'olmes!" the girl said, standing up. "How can I repay ye?"

"No need," replied Holmes.

I walked the girl to the door and gave her directions to the nearest inn, insisting that she take several shillings to live on for the next few days. After she had gone, I shut the door and breathed out a sigh.

"How do you people keep managing to come back from the dead?" I asked Holmes.

My friend simply chuckled and moved to his desk to search through his box of information about everything.


End file.
